


Renegade

by sadclapz



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Phase Five (Gorillaz), Pining, Possession, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, i've rewritten this four times pls be nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 20:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadclapz/pseuds/sadclapz
Summary: There is no song dedicated to the love he feels; but he can at least hum the tune.





	Renegade

**Author's Note:**

> i'm writing something that's not pokemon or fire emblem? what a shock. lil nervous about posting this one but let's fuckin goooo

Renegade

2D x Murdoc

K.A.

A lonely man sits in a small, rundown bar. The air wreaks of garbage and cigarette smoke (mostly, from his own light). Manly chatter reverberates disgustingly in belches and raspy grunts as intoxicated fools stomp lethargically around pool tables like zombies. The bartender roars a boisterous laughter with the friendly drunk next to him. A sole, female waitress dances around tables, exchanging an occasional glance and a lipstick-stained toothy grin. He frowns at the glass in his hand, sulking in his annoyance. He can't even stand alcohol.

It's an atrociously barbaric paradise for the one he thinks of most.

The lonely man imagines this ghost of his thoughts in green and black, walking through the front door. He comes in like rain ripping through the cumulonimbus; as if he was rejected at the pearly gates and fell all the way back to earth, landing with cracking bones and a broken soul. He pulls a chair up next to him with a _long time no see, faceache_. In his fabricated heaven, there are no drunken heathens or masculine zombies or red-glossed succubi, just him and the tattered shell of a man. He embraces him, strokes every imperfection on his face, as they nearly knock over. Sweet coos are whispered into his ear, a love letter littering the lobe. He doesn't think of what happens directly after that moment or where exactly they are when he completely falls into his arms.

What he does know is that those ghostly hands are on his skin, making the minute hairs stand tall and proud like a martyr's tombstone. Warm kisses envelop his mouth, a pointed tongue scalding the bottom lip. He misses that terribly, like he could rip all the flesh off his body for it. Trembling flames blaze when their tongues reunite- the sickly taste of antique vodka, medicinal powder, and forest fires. It's so sickening that he can feel the pit in his stomach churn and heave with lecherous delight.

They tug at clothing and nip at skin until he is red with fever, inly dying against naked heat. He chirps like a songbird _Murdoc, please, Murdoc_. A smirk slithers up his ribs, indulging in that moaning hymn. The sound of cherubs strumming harps to the man in the sky. That sky could be clouded in grey and hellfire for all he cared, but still crowned a paradise with that song.

His repulsive lover's eyes drill into the black voids of his own like he owned him, created him from a piece of his rotting rib cage. A snarling demon lingering, always. A free hand wraps snugly around his neck, a familiar fitting. A thumb runs delicately over the blue and black stars constellated on the peach of his flesh. They are almost as faded as the jeans that were flung to the corner of whatever room they were in. The pace beating inside the lonely man slows, a breathy whine escaping from the gap in his teeth. He wants to scream _faster, harder_, begging not to lose the tension knotting within until staccato kisses bud across the bruises. There is euphoria in longing.

Sweetness is cut short when he pulls away, tugs roughly at feathery, bluebird locks, and crushes against him again. There is a pulsing as intense as the one in his own heart (please, don't burst, not just yet). Bubbling sin drips hotly out of desperate moans, sobbing and pleading for his maker. Desire is as twisted as the corners of his mouth when he smiles into his painful pleasure. The only thing he can do is sink nails deeper into his back, clinging desperately onto however many years he has left on the earth. He repeats the mantra pathetically in gasps and chokes and _oh god_'s to his casuistic divinity.

And that sinner, that ravenous, lustful _sinner_, obliges his singing muse by wrapping them in a nauseating plastic. A pretty, pink cellophane that embraced them tighter. Chorus broke from his throat as his vision went kaleidoscopic. That knot squeezed tighter in the horrid depths of his libido, wanting to lurch out of his body and descend into oxygen. There was one last scorching kiss and three sacred words that would become his elegy. The words he's waited for that conflicted with his common sense. Convulsing into a galactic mess of stars, he threw his head back until it threatened to roll off the neck. Hell liquefied to a sour concoction of citrus and blood that drowned his senses in a murky puddle. He can feel it, _god I can feel it, _the rush. As fast as the car hitting him all those years ago. Hearts are beating as one. 

There was no one in that moment. No 2D, no Murdoc- no God or Satan or gatekeeper to keep the goblins out of heaven. Just atoms rattling in space and the thickened dribble of heavenly nectar. He withers like a flower in a drought, still held close to the other's sweating chest. Sheltered in a temporary, saccharine Heaven.

That's when the lonely man's spirit nearly jumps out of his aching body. Lovers fade away as the bartender and drunk chortles with greater volume, enough to yank him out of his dream land and back into the hideous haven of alcohol. The others still swaying dead around the pool table with the cheerful poison in their liver. The ashes from a diminished cigarette scatter across his jeans.

Loving such a vile creature brands him a renegade- to the public, to the holy figures above him, and to himself. Even the ghost of that sinner continues to choke him in his sleep. The only thing easing the pain are the ballads he replays in his antagonistic thoughts. There is no song dedicated to the love he feels; but he can at least hum the tune.


End file.
